


Mischief (Partly) Managed

by phantomhivemast3r



Series: Ineffable Fics [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bookshop customers are never safe from the husbands' antics, Crowley tries to ruffle some angel feathers, Footnotes, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, fluff at the end, post-armageddidn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomhivemast3r/pseuds/phantomhivemast3r
Summary: Overall, living with Aziraphale was absolute paradise. Crowley had a warm, safe place to live with an equally warm, safe companion by his side. Still, at their cores he and Aziraphale possessed an urge deep down to continue affecting humanity in some way: Aziraphale had an unquenchable desire to do good, while Crowley had a penchant for mischief. To Crowley’s dismay, Aziraphale was not a fan of the latter fact.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1510436
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	Mischief (Partly) Managed

** Mischief (Partly) Managed **

“Don’t.”

“Wha- I’m not even-”

“I know what you’re thinking, my dear; just leave them alone.”

“…Come on, Angel, just one little-”

“ _No.”_

Crowley’s lip curled into a sneer, his plans thwarted once again. He sunk further down into the chair as Aziraphale puttered around him, fruitlessly cleaning off shelves that would inevitably be repopulated with dust in a few days.

“Oh, _do_ stop sulking, Crowley; your negative energy is scaring that poor fern by the door,” Aziraphale said, noticing a leaf on the plant beginning to tremble.

“Good; maybe it’ll finally understand that if it wants to survive the week, it needs to _stop getting ssspots,”_ Crowley hissed, glaring at the offending plant, which shook even more. Aziraphale sighed and walked over to it, patting the topmost leaf gently and murmuring comforting words of reassurance. Crowley crossed his arms and pouted.

Overall, living with Aziraphale was absolute paradise. Once Crowley admitted his feelings for the angel, finally getting the 6,000-year-old weight off his chest, his love was reciprocated with immediate, absolute certainty. After their mutual confession, Aziraphale was quick to set up a place in his beloved bookshop for his newly-realized soulmate; though Crowley still retained his apartment, he preferred to stay wherever the angel was. A more efficient heating system was installed to suit Crowley’s cold-blooded nature[1], and strategic chairs were set up around the bookshop for the demon to lounge on wherever he wished.

Most of the time, Crowley had no complaints. He had a warm, safe place to live with an equally warm, safe companion by his side. Still, at their cores he and Aziraphale were complete opposites- a demon and an angel. Even though neither of them had a “side” anymore except their own, they both had an urge deep down to continue affecting humanity in some way: Aziraphale had an unquenchable desire to do good, while Crowley had a penchant for mischief.

To Crowley’s dismay, Aziraphale was not a fan of the latter fact.

“Please, Angel, just give me free reign to do _one_ little thing,” Crowley said once Aziraphale sufficiently calmed the plant and returned to dusting the shelves.

“No,” the angel repeated calmly, ever-patient with his demon. “If you must cause some mischief, go outside; I don’t want you bothering any of my customers while they’re browsing.”

Crowley scoffed. “You know, calling them ‘customers’ implies that you intend to let them _buy_ something.”

“Oh, good heavens no!” Aziraphale placed a hand over his heart as if Crowley’s words had wounded him. “Please, dear boy, don’t say such things. They are ‘customers’ because I run a bookshop, and the people that browse within a bookshop are ‘customers.’”

“…As I’ve asked countless times, why don’t you just turn this into a library?”

Aziraphale’s expression became pained. “You don’t understand, Crowley.”

“Nope, and I don’t think I ever will.” With a loud sigh, Crowley stood and stretched. He leaned over and placed a firm kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek, making him blush. “Suit yourself, Angel; I’m going to wander and get some of this _demonic energy_ out of my system.” He punctuated the end of this sentence by grabbing Aziraphale’s waist and squeezing, causing the angel to yelp in surprise and swat his hands away. Crowley snickered and slunk off into one of the aisles before Aziraphale could reprimand him more.

Crowley and Aziraphale lived together, but the bookshop would always be Aziraphale’s at heart. Crowley couldn’t stand to go against his angel’s wishes, and if that meant no pulling pranks on the hapless humans that unfortunately wandered into the shop, then he would keep his mischievous ideas to himself.[2]

Suddenly, Crowley stopped dead, the fingers he’d been running absently along a shelf pausing on the spine of a first edition Italian cookbook. A slow smile spread across his face. Aziraphale specifically forbid him from making mischief in the shop; he never said anything about _temptation_ … which could certainly, if one squinted, be considered an _aspect_ of mischief. And if this temptation happened to cause the mild annoyance of a certain angel- nothing serious, just enough to ruffle some feathers- well... technically Crowley would still be following Aziraphale's condition of not directly harassing the customers.

The demon sidled around the bookshelves, scoping out each human currently within the shop. There was a woman sitting in a chair with a book in her hands, though she was staring somewhere far away from the pages; no, she looked too exhausted for Crowley to truly tempt. A group of tweens clustered around the new graphic novel section[3]; no, Crowley didn’t mess with kids. A couple stood in the romance section, one man tugging on his partner’s sleeve and pointing to something while his partner rolled his eyes, pretending to be exasperated; no, Crowley thought it best to leave those two alone as well.

He was about to give up on his clever plan when he came across the final customer- a woman in her early forties, with short, dyed-blonde hair, not-so-subtle pink eye shadow, and bold, black eyeliner and mascara. She was holding a book entitled “How to Keep Your Home (and Life!) Clutter-Free.” Crowley appreciated the irony of the title, though he knew this was one of the few books that Aziraphale would most definitely sell if the woman wanted to buy it. It had come in a box of random books that had no significance to the angel, all titles being modern and mass-produced, that someone had left on his doorstep one day. This happened frequently, especially during “spring cleaning” season, and Aziraphale had a special section of the shop dedicated to the small group of books that he _could_ bear to part with.

“ _Hello_ ,” Crowley drawled, sidling up to the woman. She was a head shorter than him and startled at his sudden approach. Her eyes widened as she looked the demon up and down. Crowley could tell by the unintentional spark of hunger in her eyes that his current appearance was definitely her “type:" tall, dark, and handsome.[4]

_Good_. That made things so much easier.

“Er… hi,” the woman replied, finally composing herself and instinctively tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

“I haven't seen _you_ around here before; as a good friend of the owner of the shop, I thought I might check in and make sure you're alright.” Crowley flashed a gleaming smile and the woman flushed. “What have you got there?”

“Oh, uh, it’s…” The woman turned the book over in her hands, temporarily forgetting how to read. She cleared her throat and returned the demon’s smile. “It’s a book about decluttering.”

“You’re American,” Crowley stated, noting the woman’s accent. She nodded and gave a little laugh.

“Yeah, my son is on our high school’s soccer team- best in the league!” She puffed herself up proudly at this statement. “Their team got invited to play in a special international tournament and England is one of the stops. My son and his friends are at that pizza place around the corner, so I figured I’d give them some time to you know… ‘chill,’ or whatever they do now.” She let out another laugh, this time a little more forced. “Kids these days; never want to hang out with their uncool parents anymore, you know?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Crowley agreed, absolutely giddy with excitement. An American soccer mom- now _this_ was a person that no one, human or otherwise, wanted to be on the bad side of.

_Perfect._

“So, uh… you said you work here too?” the woman asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Crowley gave a derisive snort.

“On occasion, I suppose,” he responded. He looked at the book in the woman’s hand and raised an eyebrow. “May I?”

Without hesitation, the woman handed the book over. Crowley’s lip curled as he examined it, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the meaningless waffle about “decluttering your life” on the back cover.

“I was… I was just looking at it,” the woman said, a little guiltily, her blush deepening underneath the pink make-up on her cheeks. “It seems like you’re not a fan of that sort of thing, Mister…?”

“Crowley,” the demon responded automatically. His gaze flickered to the woman’s face and he saw a tiny frown twist the corners of her mouth at the unconventional name.

“Crowley,” the woman repeated with a little nod of acknowledgement. Her frown quickly turned into a wide smile. “I’m Cindy.”

“Well, _Cccindy_ -” Crowley lingered on the name for a split-second longer than necessary, his gaze fixed onto hers. “-you would be correct. This isn’t really my thing.” He moved his hand as if to haphazardly throw the book but realized he would have heaven to pay if Aziraphale caught him disrespecting a piece of literature, no matter how little value it had. Crowley settled on placing the book onto the shelf a few spaces away from its original place; a mildly annoying surprise for the angel to find later.

“Perhaps we should find you something a little more _interesting_ to read?” Crowley titled his head expectantly. Cindy blinked at him for a moment, then said:

“Oh, uh… sure.”

Crowley turned away from the shelf of sellable books and examined the texts on the opposite side. He was looking for a book that was off-limits for purchasing, but not _too_ special- just enough to rile the angel up a little bit. Within a few seconds, he’d found a collection of ancient Italian poetry.

An easy smile slid across Crowley’s face as he casually held the book out to Cindy. “How about this?”

“Italian… poetry?” Cindy said, looking unimpressed. “Um, that’s… not really my usual type of reading style-”

“Not your _usual_ type, correct,” the demon echoed, waving the book slightly. “So why not try something different?”

“Well…”

The woman still looked hesitant. Crowley suppressed a frustrated sigh and leaned towards her, slipping the book into one of the lax hands at hanging at her side.

“Come on, why don’t you just take this over to the nice man at the counter? Then you can get it all packed up and be on your way with a new experience in hand.” Crowley raised an eyebrow expectantly over his glasses. Cindy nodded slowly, looking quite confused as to what they were actually talking about.

“Y-Yeah… sure; why not,” she finally relented. Crowley’s grin widened. He gently turned her in the direction of where Aziraphale had set up his pointless register and gave her a light push on the small of her back, urging her forward.

Crowley followed the woman until he caught sight of Aziraphale, now shuffling around some books on a nearby desk. The demon slipped behind a shelf out of sight.

“Um, excuse me,” she said, stopping a few paces away from the angel.

“Oh, hello!” Aziraphale said, turning around and giving her a kind smile. One of the low hanging candles in the shop[5] rested behind the angel’s head, lighting up his blonde curls like a soft halo. Crowley couldn’t help the lovestruck expression that momentarily crossed his face, though he quickly masked this with a cool scowl. It wouldn’t do to be overcome with fondness when he was in the middle of trying to prank said object of his affection.

“What can I help you with?” Aziraphale asked. Cindy merely stared at him for a few seconds, subconsciously adjusting to the different auras between this man and the one she’d just been talking to. Soon, though, she shook her head to clear it and held up the book.

“I’d like to buy this.”

A corner of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid that book isn’t for sale,” the angel said. “Please feel free to take your time and enjoy reading it in my shop. Or, if you would prefer, I could take that book back and direct your attention to some that _are_ for sale?”

He held out a hand. Cindy glanced at it, then tightened her grip on the spine of the book.

“I’d _really_ like to buy this, though,” she said. Aziraphale slowly lowered his hand, only to clasp it in his other palm behind his back.

“As I mentioned, unfortunately it’s not for sale.” His smile had already slipped into something curter and less genuine. Crowley suppressed a snicker.

“Why is it out on the shelves then?” Cindy pressed, her mouth twisting downwards in a frown.

“It must have gotten misplaced,” Aziraphale fibbed. He and Crowley knew perfectly well that it had definitely _not_ gotten misplaced; though the bookshop looked chaotic, it was an organized chaos that only Aziraphale truly understood.

“Hmm…,” Cindy mused, staring at the object in her hand that was causing such a fuss. She wasn’t sure _why_ she wanted this poetry so badly, but a nagging tug in the back of her mind told her that she just _had_ to leave the store with it in her possession. She straightened her shoulders and looked Aziraphale dead-on. “Well, I still want it. How much?”

The angel’s mouth opened slightly, taken aback by the woman’s persistence. "Madam, as I've already told you-"

"It shouldn't be on the shelves if it isn't for sale. So, how much?" With the dexterity of having done this hundreds of times before, Cindy reached into her purse with one hand and dug around until she found her wallet. Refusing to let go of the book, for she didn't like the calculating gleam that had settled into the bookseller's eyes, she skillfully pulled out a credit card and held it up for the world to see. "Name the price."

"10,000 pounds," Aziraphale responded casually, not missing a beat, but Cindy merely laughed.

"Nah, you're lying. What is it _really_? 100? 200?" She shook the credit card, as if demonstrating that it could pay as much as Aziraphale (reasonably) wanted it to. The angel's lips pursed into a thin line.

"I can see we are not going to come to an agreement, madam, so I regretfully must insist that you return the book to my possession and come back another day when you are a bit more reasonably-minded," he said, a pinch of his annoyance slipping through. Cindy's eyes blazed with offense.

"Okay, if you're just going to be rude, then I don't want to deal with you," she snapped, looking around as if to find someone else to help her. "Let me speak with your manager."

"I _am_ the manager." Aziraphale's returning smile revealed a bit of teeth, and Crowley shivered involuntarily. He could tell that it would soon be time to put a stop to this woman before she drove his angel too far over the edge. Before he could find a subtle way to do this, however, Cindy uttered something that made the demon's blood run cold.

"Well then let me speak to your other employee; _he_ was very helpful."

"I don't _have_ another em-" Aziraphale paused, realization dawning across his features. " _Ah._ Right... I know just who you're speaking of, my dear."

It was at this moment that Crowley foolishly decided to run. He figured if he could just make it out the door, he would pop down to the nearby florist and then the chocolate shop to pick up some tokens of apology for riling up the Principality a little more than intended. After a few glasses of wine, he knew that everything would be forgiven. He just had to make it out of the shop first.

However, as he took his third step, a nearby stool slid away from the shelf and stopped right under his feet, sending him flailing unceremoniously towards the floor. Miraculously, the ground in front of him came to life with a plethora of soft pillows, preventing any physical damage from his fall- though his pride was as different story. Still, Crowley instinctively shut his eyes as he hit the pillows, then lay there for a moment as he felt an all-too-familiar angelic presence close in on him. When the aura was incredibly strong, Crowley carefully opened one eye to see a pair of brown, well-worn shoes standing in front of him.

"Oh," the demon said, as casually as he could, flashing a shaky grin. "Hey, Angel."

***

"I wish you'd have _told_ me how antsy you truly were, dearest," Aziraphale said, running a hand through Crowley's fiery hair. The pair rested on the couch, Crowley's head in Aziraphale's lap as the demon curled up in a rare attempt _not_ to encompass all the furniture space he could. They were alone, all customers in the shop having suddenly decided that they would rather be anywhere but there.

"Tried to," Crowley mumbled into the angel's thigh, and he could almost feel Aziraphale roll his eyes above him.

"Grumbling about wanting to cause mischief isn't the same thing as saying that not doing so is actually _bothering_ you, love."

Crowley's face flushed with a combination of embarrassment and frustration. Sometimes it was still hard to express his true emotions to Aziraphale after centuries of not being able to.

"Oh, you silly thing," Aziraphale said fondly as he felt the demon nuzzle closer to him. "Well, I can't put all the blame on you; I could certainly do a better job of listening to you sometimes."

'S fine, Angel, don't worry about it," Crowley responded, and Aziraphale leaned down to press a light kiss against his temple.

"Do you feel a little better than earlier, at least?"

"Yeah." Crowley turned his head to flash the angel a grin. "Good enough for a spot of lunch at that new sushi place down the road, in fact; what do you say?"

Aziraphale's wiggle of excitement was all the answer Crowley needed. The demon stood up and held out a hand. Aziraphale grasped it and, in a swift move one would not expect from the angel, pulled Crowley close for a deep kiss.

"I love you, dearest," Aziraphale said, brushing a piece of hair out of Crowley's slightly dazed face.

"Uh... yeah," the demon responded, blinking slowly, another smile lighting up his expression. "Love you too, Angel."

"Come on," Aziraphale said, slotting his hand perfectly into Crowley's and gently tugging him towards the door. "While we're eating, we can talk about how to satiate this mischievous streak of yours in a way that won't drive anyone mad."

Crowley laughed, a sound that was absolutely musical to the angel's ears. "Sounds like a plan."

Aziraphale grip tightened in an affectionate squeeze and the pair left the shop, hand in hand as they were always meant to be.

* * *

[1] Aziraphale wasn’t nearly as bothered by temperature and therefore never noticed when the inside of the building only differed from the cold winter air by a few degrees.

[2] Crowley had only been allowed to unleash some of his demonic nature once, when there was a particularly aggressive customer who absolutely insisted on buying a very rare, misprinted bible. Aziraphale prized all his books, but his bible collection was, naturally, his absolute favorite. He couldn’t understand how the woman had even come across the book and it took all his angelic strength _not_ to unleash his fury on her for having the gall to try and _purchase it._ Crowley came to the rescue and Aziraphale went into his office while the demon sorted out the situation. Needless to say, the woman never returned to the shop (and from that day on, gained an irrational fear of giant snakes).

[3] Courtesy of Adam; he wanted the Them to have something more exciting to read when they dropped by for the occasional visit.

[4] At least according to Aziraphale, whose opinion was the only one that mattered

[5] Fake, of course. The angel and demon both agreed that they'd dealt with enough real flames in recent history.


End file.
